Pond People
12. Dreams

Flash hadn’t told anyone about the nightmares he had brought with him to the pond.

Every night, he dreamed of being back in the pet shop. Each morning, the open sky rippling above the pond would reassure him that those days were over.

The nightmares became less frequent. By the week of the tournament, they had stopped altogether and didn’t return, even after the encounter with the cat shook his confidence.

And he had still won the longshot crown. If it weren’t for that cat, he would have won the tournament outright. He had been looking forward to wearing his prize, seeing his future carved in the swirls and peaks of Grandad’s reed crown.

He wondered what had happened to those prizes.

Instead of sporting a crown, he was here, reliving the nightmare of his past.

In place of the distant, reassuring sky, a flat ceiling again bore down on him. He understood Flipper’s frustration, powering through the water only to meet his own reflection in the glass.

Unlike Flipper, the new fantails bustled happily around the tank. They too roused depressing memories of the pet shop, despite their cheerful appearance. The neighbouring display tank had been busy with them.

Bethany had named the white and orange one, Finny and the piebald male, Fanny. The useless things didn’t buck like Flipper, but they were too wriggly for Amber to ride.

Grandad had aged since leaving the pond. Flo spent what time she could with him and hardly noticed when Flash was around.

She always had fussed over Eddy, but now she took Amber into her shoal. She insisted they all come together for meals, so she could ensure that the weakest had their share and gently bully them until they ate.

Flash didn’t mind. Some days, it was the only time he saw her. He was usually first in the galley for breakfast.

One morning, he arrived to replace Wally already there, helping Flo.

Sylva appeared, hair uncombed, clearly unhappy with this development. She always found tasks to keep Walter under her eye in the hollow she had claimed for the three of them. Either the gravel needed cleaning to discourage goldfish from rooting in it – Mother didn’t vacuum near the plants for fear of dislodging them – or else the vacuum had strayed too close, and Wal was expected to deal with the resulting chaos.

But Wally still found time to help Flo, and he was a fast learner. He learned to identify plants that were turning sour, or flake that was about to grow mould, and his leaf patties were the smoothest any of them had tasted.

This particular morning, the results of their cord plaiting lessons had to be moved aside to make space for breakfast.

‘Is your blade strong enough to chop this plant back, Grandad?’ asked Flo. ‘There’s space on the other side that could join up with this space and we’d have more room to do things together.’

Needless to say, moaning Molly had an objection.

‘Wouldn’t the plant be too thin to hide us if we chopped half of it away?’

Flash picked up one of the cords that had been moved aside. It was uneven, thick and knobbly, but strong.

‘We could use this stronger rope to move it instead. If we all help to pull, we can make a channel in the gravel to drag the plant along and bring it into line with the other plants. Can you make more of this?’

‘That’s our Moll’s.’ Grandad nodded at Molly. ‘We need more, lass.’

‘I can make more.’ Molly looked surprised, but gratified.

‘What a good idea, Flash,’ simpered Sylva. ‘Your plaiting is good for something after all, Molly.’

No doubt, Sylva had also seen the advantages of more people joining Flo and Wally in the galley.

Flash helped, taking the opportunity to learn how to roughly plait rope with Molly while the others sliced stems and prepared them. After a few days there was enough cord to shift the plant and double their galley space.

When the plant had been moved, while the others were pushing gravel into the trench behind it, Flash rolled up the cord and stowed it safe. He had thought of a use for it.

Sylva still haunted the galley whenever Wally was there. The impression Flash got was that she wasn’t much help, but Flo was happy to leave the two of them in charge of things when Molly started seeking her out for a chat.

Flash wondered what new directives Molly was cooking up now.

The tank seemed safe, but he was homesick for the community he had belonged to so briefly in the pond.

He missed his team; he missed his supporters; he missed mirlings he hadn’t met yet. He missed the challenges of the pump and yearned for the freedom to swim as far and as fast as he could.

He missed the sky.

It was Flo who dared to raise the question one day, while they were feasting on fern leaves and a brine shrimp that he had seized almost from the mouth of a fantail.

‘Do you think we’ll ever g-go back?’

Flo was braver than the others gave her credit for.

Grandad’s eyes were grey as winter skies.

‘I’ve learned there’s nothing gained by living in the past. Think of the past as water that’s flowed under the bridge and gone.’

Sylva eyed the ornamental bridge, confusion creasing her brow. Flash wondered how many of them understood Grandad’s image of bridges over water. In the pond, water didn’t flow away, never to return, as it did in the river. It was pumped through a filter and came back via the waterfall.

But Grandad had never forgotten his other life. And here he was, dragged again from the water he had learned to call home.

‘You must do best you can, lass, with what you’ve got now. You’ll never survive if you’re always looking back.’

Flash registered Grandad’s words. Shouldn’t that be, we must do the best we can, or we’ll never survive?

‘Never say never, Grandad. You told us that, remember?’

Amber stopped humming to herself and looked up from her leaf patty.

‘I like it here.’

Flash wondered if Amber had been bullied in the pond.

Sylva stopped eating. ‘We have to stay together.’ Panic in her eyes, she looked to Walter for support. ‘It’s better we all stay safe here, isn’t it, Walter?’

‘It’s nice enough here.’ He seemed unsure, but willing to be convinced. ‘I suppose.’

Grandad’s quiet thought was almost lost. ‘It in’t home.’

Flash had allowed himself to think Grandad was comfortable here.

The water was warmer than the pond, food appeared daily and there wasn’t far to walk.

He hadn’t complained. The bronze colour had returned to his skin, if not his eyes, and he seemed recovered from the goldfish bowl. But something was missing.

In the pond, although his body had been stiff and slow, his thoughts had been as lively as any of them.

Eddy caught Flash’s eye before facing Flo with an apologetic expression.

‘We’ve been thinking about ways to get home.’

His eyes dropped to his hand, where a finger picked at a loose scale. ‘We wouldn’t have gone without you, but we didn’t want to get your hopes up by saying anything.’

‘Hopes?’ Sylva looked from Eddy to Flo, and then to Grandad.

Flash steeled himself for Molly’s disapproval. He had been keeping out of her way. They only crossed paths at mealtimes, which they could just manage without sniping at each other.

Now Flo was smiling at Eddy’s discomfort.

‘Molly and I have been talking about it too. We didn’t mention it because it seemed so… impossible.’

Sylva was speechless, which was a nice change.

Grandad looked chirpier than he had for ages.

‘Now don’t you youngsters try anything daft.’ He paused. ’But if we do come up with anything that we all agree on,’ he looked around with a stern expression, ‘don’t expect me to tag along and hold you back.’

They all felt Flo’s shock.

Eddy protested. ‘Don’t talk daft, old mir. We’re not going anywhere without you.’

‘We’re not going anywhere at all,’ Molly added quietly.

‘That’s all right, then.’ Sylva ended the discussion. ‘Can someone pass me some more of that shrimp?’

Time passed.

School holidays arrived, and the children were around all day. Every day. Flash learned to understand humanspeak as well as the pond mirlings did.

Andre caught sight of Sylva one morning as she swam back into the weed from her morning reflection. He decided the fish must have spawned, not realising how unlikely that was, and resumed his hatchling hunts.

Father set up a piece of equipment under the lid of the tank. All night, it ticked quietly above them. In the morning it made a whirring sound and flakes fell from it to the water.

That morning, the family were up early and buzzing around the kitchen. Children ran in and out, getting in their parents’ way, and Father checked the new feeder.

‘That does the job! The first compartment’s empty and the wheel’s moved around. We won’t have to worry about the fish starving while we’re away.’

‘Oh, bother!’ said Mother. ‘I meant to vacuum the aquarium yesterday and clean the filter. What with the packing and everything, I didn’t get around to it.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Do it when we get back.’

‘Along with the unpacking and the washing and the ironing, you mean?’

’I’ll do it when we get back.’ Father’s voice remained cheerful as the bustle rose to a crescendo.

The front door closed, and the kitchen was quiet.